Oliver Twist

Peeping out, more than once, when he reached the top,
to make sure that he was unobserved, Noah Claypole
darted away at his utmost speed, and made for the Jew's
house as fast as his legs would carry him.

CHAPTER XLVII Fatal consequences

IT was nearly two hours before day-break; that time which,
in the autumn of the year, may be truly called the dead of
night; when the streets are silent and deserted; when even
sounds appear to slumber, and profligacy and riot have
staggered home to dream; it was at this still and silent hour,
that Fagin sat watching in his old lair, with face so distorted
and pale, and eyes so red and bloodshot, that he looked less
like a man, than like some hideous phantom, moist from
the grave, and worried by an evil spirit.

He sat crouching over a cold hearth, wrapped in an old
torn coverlet, with his face turned towards a wasting candle
that stood upon a table by his side. His right hand was
raised to his lips, and as, absorbed in thought, he bit his
long black nails, he disclosed among his toothless gums a
few such fangs as should have been a dog's or rat's.

Stretched upon a mattress on the floor, lay Noah Claypole, fast asleep. Towards him the old man sometimes
directed his eyes for an instant, and then brought them
back again to the candle; which with a long-burnt wick
drooping almost double, and hot grease falling down in
clots upon the table, plainly showed that his thoughts were
busy elsewhere.

Indeed, they were. Mortification at the overthrow of his
notable scheme; hatred of the girl who had dared to palter
with strangers; an utter distrust of the sincerity of her

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